


Triage

by MisMisto



Series: Operator, please [1]
Category: Half-Life, Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, Eli needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Friendship, Gen, Gordon needs a hug, Half-Life: Alyx spoilers, Head Injury, Kleiner needs a Hug, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Half-Life: Alyx, Post-Portal 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisMisto/pseuds/MisMisto
Summary: SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF HALF-LIFE: ALYX"Sure, they could engineer the many theories and calculations of quantum mechanics to snugly fit the events that had transpired over the course of 20 years, but they could never completely shut off their humanity. It was seated deep inside their brain, always watching, always vigilant. Now it was screaming at them, telling them that this, whatever this was.. It wasn’t right. None of it. "
Relationships: Barney Calhoun & Gordon Freeman, Gordon Freeman & Eli Vance, Gordon Freeman & Isaac Kleiner, Gordon Freeman/Alyx Vance
Series: Operator, please [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742362
Comments: 27
Kudos: 90





	1. Point Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a re-imagining of Half-Life: Alyx' ending, starting right where we left off post-credits. Because striking a pose with a crowbar right after you nearly died and with your health points lower than 20? Not gonna happen. Sorry Volvo.

And then time stopped.

Gordon felt the familiar sensation of reality detaching from itself, layers separating, laying them bare and vulnerable. When the ringing in his ears also stopped, he willed himself to look left with what little control he had accumulated over this power. One last, futile gesture of rebellion. He succeeded, and he saw Alyx’ outstretched hand, reaching for him. Her eyes wide in terror, and he saw tears frozen in time floating in front of her, marking her location before she was yanked backwards. He reached out for her, so close that he could feel the heat from her hand on his fingertips. Her lips parted as if she was going to gasp, or shout, or maybe whisper his name. She did neither. Alyx Vance vanished, the ringing in his ears finally overwhelmed him and he fell to the floor.

“Gordon!”

He felt someone’s hands grasp his shoulders and lift his head from the ground. They were too warm to be _his_ , so feeling safer than he had in years, he allowed himself to cling to the last shreds of unconsciousness, a blank peaceful state foreboding the inevitable moment the floodgates would shatter, and reality would pour back in to fill his mind. The power radiating from the Advisors, Eli’s last pleas to his daughter, and the pain in Alyx’ voice. It felt like it’s already been so long since he rested.

But he couldn’t stay asleep forever.

“Wake up, Gordon!” He groaned, blinking hard to lift the fog from his mind. He finally recognised the voice as Eli Vance, and one glance at him, blurry as it was due to his glasses flying off somewhere, quickly reminded him what had just transpired.

“Alyx..” He croaked.

“She’s gone, Gordon!” He saw Eli look frantically back and forth to where she was, then back to him. “She’s gone!”

Of course he had taken her. He was looking for a replacement. He had always been looking for a replacement, ever since he was inserted into City 17. No doubt for something he had done, or something he was yet to do. Or maybe his reputation as a ‘capable, but equally infuriating employee’ really surpassed space and time. Not that it mattered anymore.

“Son of a bitch and his ‘unforeseen consequences’! When I get my hands on him, I’m gonna…” Eli's sentence was cut off when he heard Gordon inhale sharply. He’d tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the sharp pain in his abdomen took his breath away and he’d fallen back onto the ground.

“Shit, you’re bleeding.” Eli quickly took out a piece of cloth from one of his pockets but Gordon waved his hand dismissively.

“It’s not a deep wound. The stitches must’ve ripped open when I fell.”

Eli shook his head. “I’m not worried about _that_.”

Gordon frowned, looking at his sides and chest for any gaping hole he might’ve overlooked. “I don’t feel any-…” he started, but then Eli shifted so that his thigh was supporting his neck. That’s when he saw that his hands were soaked in blood.

Gordon blinked. “Oh.”

Eli spared a glance at him before resuming his work on the makeshift bandage. “Those drugs that suit keeps pumping into your system are good and all, but it numbs your brain to the point you’d barely feel it if your arm chopped off.”

Gordon thought back to his fundamental biology classes, trying to ignore the warmth of his blood oozing down steadily from the side of his neck and seep into his hair from what he imagines to be an impressive gash. “Seeing as I’m still alive, it must’ve missed the artery.”

“Barely. Still bleeding pretty heavily. Only reason you haven’t passed out again must have been the drugs.” Eli looked over to the display on the side of Gordon’s chest. “Your heart pressure is barely below average.”

“Nor-epinephrine?”

Eli considered it, probably thinking back to his university classes as well. “Might be mixed in there somewhere, yeah. Though you should ask Izzy about it to be sure. He knows much more about this suit than I ever could if I tried. Maybe I should have done my homework; could’ve saved me a limb or two, huh?” he grinned absentmindedly.

“Or it wouldn’t have helped either way and you would’ve bled out in a minute.” He offered in a half-joking manner that he knew Eli always enjoyed. He figured it must have worked when Eli threw his head back and laughed.

“True. But that only goes to prove just how lucky you’ve been so far.” He gave Gordon a look. “That luck may not last forever.”

Gordon looked away. “It didn’t.”

He felt Eli’s grip on his head tighten slightly. “You’re gonna be good as new in no time, Gordon. We’ll be ready to go just in time to get the bastard. But for now, just hang on. One step at a time.” He turned to face the source of the worried coos coming from the giant robot. Gordon had barely heard D0G arrive.

“D0G, go get Doctor Matthews. Tell his team to prepare the operating room.”

D0G’s faceplates widened and he hopped on his front legs impatiently, looking back and forth between Eli and him, while making high-pitched beeping and wooing sounds in a way that resembled a very solid counter-argument.

Eli shook his head. “Gordon’s condition is too unstable. We can’t know for sure the extent of the damage to his neck, so we need to move him nice and slow. You just tell them what happened and you can help them bring him in then.” He looked at Gordon. “Your blood type?”

“B+.”

“You heard him!”

D0G nodded and hopped on his back legs, seemingly satisfied with his answer, then rushed off to the distance. He turned his attention back to Gordon and laid his other hand on his forehead to better stabilize his head. With not much else to do, the two scientists’ gazes turned inwards, distancing themselves from the outside world to safely analyse what had transpired from a rational, mathematical perspective without their emotions clouding their judgement. Or maybe it was just a way their minds protected them, a mechanism that activated when they faced overwhelming emotional stimuli. In this particular case, Gordon suspected it was the latter, because none of what happened made sense. Sure, they could engineer the many theories and calculations of quantum mechanics to snugly fit the events that had transpired over the course of 20 years, but they could never completely shut off their humanity. It was seated deep inside their brain, always watching, always vigilant. Now it was screaming at them, telling them that this, whatever this was.. It wasn’t right. None of it _._

Eli was the first to snap out of it. His eyes lost focus, gaze frozen on a spot behind Gordon’s shoulder, and he stood very, very still. Gordon knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m going to kill him.” He said, so softly that he almost didn’t hear him. Gordon managed to give a small nod.

“I’ll help you.” Eli chuckled at his sincerity, and his posture slowly loosened.

Gordon felt the twinge of guilt in his chest when he looked up at him. He couldn’t see him very clearly, but he felt the weight of Eli’s warm, trusting gaze. “Like he was his own son,” he’d said. He wondered if he could say that if he knew what he did. Or what happened to her. How she nearly died right in front of him and he did nothing. The dread building in his chest was so strong that he physically felt his muscles tighten, and he closed his eyes as he felt his eyes sting.

“Gordon? You okay, son?”

“I almost caught her,” he managed to say. “Alyx. Before he took her.” He took a shaky breath that he could barely stifle before it turned into a sob. “I tried to-…”

“Shhh. Don’t.” The tone of his voice made Gordon risk a glance. Maybe he was finally seeing him for what he was. A puppet. A microscopic cog in the plans of gods. A threat to his daughter that had done nothing but put her in danger from the moment he got here. But when he looked, he realised that nothing had changed. In fact, he suspected his gaze had grown even warmer.

“Gordon, I know what you’re thinking. I _know_ that you blame yourself for all that’s happened even if it was completely out of your control, and you feel like some sort of... antichrist or whatever it was that Breen was raving on about, as if you destroy every single damn thing you’ve ever cared about. Is that true?” Gordon didn’t answer.

Eli nodded. “I thought so. I know I did. Black Mesa, Azian’s death, hell, I worked on the teleporter that sent you to Breen’s office and nearly killed you.” Gordon disagreed, but he decided against voicing his thoughts when Eli shook his head, as if he had sensed his discontent.

“But you saw what happened. That bastard took her away from right under our nose and there was nothing nobody could have done. There’s forces at play that we can’t even imagine the magnitude of. What we _can_ do, is what we’ve always done. Work together and try harder this time. And if that fails,” he lightened the grip on Gordon’s forehead, the smallest gesture of reassurance. “We get up, see where we went wrong, and try again.”

Gordon smiled. “For who knows what’s possible.”

That made Eli laugh in delight, with the slightest tone of melancholy present. “Faraday. He got it all figured out, alright.”

“He sure did. Most of the time, anyway.”

They heard a loud thump in the distance, and D0G appeared at the front of the barn a few seconds later, beeping enthusiastically. He had a backpack in his left paw that contained a medkit and a few syringes of analgesic medication, probably in case his HEV had malfunctioned.

“Good job, boy. And..” he gave Gordon his glasses back. “Here you go.” He patted the chest plate of his suit. “I’m going to need your help with this one.”

“Got it.” He worked to turn off the HEV suit while Eli quickly prepared the IV medication. When it was powered off, they worked carefully to dismantle it section by section so as to not disturb Gordon’s position too much. Once that was done, Eli wrapped clean bandages over the blood-soaked cloth to reinforce the wound, then took off his jacket to support Gordon’s head.

There.” Eli moved back and sat down on the floor with a huff. “That should help with the bleeding.”

“Thank you, doctor. And, uh,” Gordon swallowed, absently rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, about… Bleeding all over you.”

Eli barked out a laugh. “ _Doctor?!_ Ha! I thought we were over the formalities by now! And did you really think I’d be bothered by a couple of shirts while you were bleeding out in the middle of the garage? Come now, Gordon!”

Gordon laughed, surprised to feel blood gush to his face, seeing how he’d only just stopped bleeding everywhere. “I suppose not.”

They both looked, or in Gordon’s case, peeked, towards the door when they heard it open, and Dr. Matthews and his team rushed in. Gordon heard D0G’s feet thump against the ground as he hopped happily.

He cleared his throat. “Eli..”

“Don’t worry, Gordon. Matthews was one of Black Mesa’s top surgeons. He’s going to make sure you’re back on your feet in no time.”

“No. No, not that.” He said as they moved to secure him on a backboard. “Did the Vortigaunts tell you what happened when we were ambushed by Hunters?”

Eli’s face darkened. “Yeah. Yeah, they did. They said they healed Alyx with.. Some sort of bond?”

“They did something, a ritual, to ‘weave’ her life with mine. Something powerful.” They started to move Gordon up the stairs, and Eli closed the door behind them before following after him.

“Wait. They _bound_ you two together?”

“Yes. It saved her life. Maybe we can find a way to use it. To find her.” Gordon’s vision started to blur, and he had difficulty discerning Eli’s face from the countless rebels they were passing by. He continued hurriedly. “I don’t exactly know _what_ it is myself, but might be our best chance.”

Confusion flashed over Eli’s face, as well as the implications of what Gordon’s plans entailed, but he nodded, determined. “Alright. I’ll start talking to the Vortigaunts, see if they can help. Now,” he gently squeezed Gordon’s good arm. “Get some rest and let us take care of you for a change. We’ll have a lot of work to do when you come back.” Eli stalled back behind them when they reached the operating room, and Gordon heard the wide doors flying open.

“He’s not gonna make this easy, you know.” Eli flashed him a brief, almost wicked grin at that, and despite the overwhelming odds against them Gordon felt renewed confidence wash over him, soothing his mind. He heard Eli's answer as the doors closed.

“Neither will we.”


	2. Contact 00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Power, is Vortessence, but not enough to free, the Alyx Vance.”  
>  “Then… How do we make it enough?”  
> The Vortigaunt had turned and pointed to the metal table upon which laid the sketches of a ship. Eli had turned pale.  
>  **“The North.” __**_  
>  **  
>  ******  
>   
>   
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this, a second chapter? In **my** fanfiction?! Preposterious!  
> Same as the first chapter, I'm aware that my tone is a little hurried, but this fic is not meant to tell a story, rather it only puts forward my idea for the possible course of action Valve could take in Half-Life 3.  
> Half-Life 3.. We truly live in strange times.

“Keep breathing for me, Freeman. I’ll have a _lot_ more paperwork to fill in if you don’t.”

The scientist’s tone seeped through Gordon’s thoughts and brought him back to reality. He frowned when he felt the straining in his lungs. He let it out with a huff, and he saw her nod from the corner of his eye as she watched his blood trickle slowly into the tube.

He settled further into the cushioned headrest of the exam bed so his head was as further away from the needle as possible. It wasn’t the sight of his blood that bothered him, not anymore, but rather the feeling of helplessness of being immobilized and subjected to treatment he had little to no control over. This procedure was nothing compared to what he’d been through and it was far from being non-consensual, but still. He suspected his childhood fear of needles didn’t really help either. He busied himself with scanning his surroundings and focusing on Weiss’ gentle touch that contrasted the cold sting of the needle.

“Didn’t even notice I was holding it in.”

“Most people don’t. It’s natural, but it does make you tense up. Hurts a little more.” He heard the smile in her voice as she continued. “The ‘take a deep breath’ line might get old after a while, but I’d like to think it helps.”

“It does.” Gordon nodded. “It didn’t hurt at all. It’s just that I forgot about the part where you’re supposed to let it out.”

Her laughter echoed in the small examination room, making him smile as well. It was always refreshing to be reminded that however hard things might get, however bleak the path across might seem, there would always be joy and laughter. An unspoken promise of perseverance, that things will get better.

Somehow.

A comfortable pause settled between them after her laughter died down. He saw her shadow shift when she looked up to search his face, then down again to her hands. Her voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. “We’ll find her.”

“I hope so.” He whispered.

It had been two weeks since Alyx Vance disappeared. With the improved communications network implemented in almost all remaining resistance camps in the region, news had travelled fast. The ramifications of one of the most important figures in the Resistance falling into the hands of Combine forces weren’t lost on anyone, and orders were given to every camp to retaliate in full force as soon as possible before they had a chance to act on whatever information they would inevitably extract from her. As the militia worked to disband the remaining forces alongside rescue missions for any prisoners, including Miss Vance, work would be underway to establish contact with the rest of Europe and, if possible, beyond.

_“The assimilation of the Combine was only half the battle. Now that they have nowhere to run, it is time to extend our relief efforts to the rest of the world, to the people who seek salvation in the freedom our Malefactors have forsaken from us. We must help them break their chains, for our survival depends on every single one of them. Now we must come together not only as the opposing force of a war, but as species who fight for the unalienable right to call this planet **home**.”_

These were the orders given to rebel forces, and what they’ve been told was far from wrong, but the truth behind Miss Vance’s disappearance required at least some amount of omission. Nobody was happy about withholding information from their allies, but the last thing the Resistance needed was another unknown element that could pose a larger threat than the Combine. It wasn’t as if whatever information they had on him was much to go on, anyways. Their file was mostly based on Gordon and Eli’s experiences, witness reports that have accumulated over the years of an unidentified man in a blue suit, and the vague descriptions of Vortigaunts that did nothing to ease their worries. Having put those clues together as best they could, it had soon become obvious that getting Alyx back entailed the use of Vortessence, a meta-physical force that gave Vortigaunts the innate ability to transcend the confines of space and time, and something of their own doing; science.

_“Power, is Vortessence, but not enough to free, the Alyx Vance.”_

_“Then… How do we_ make _it enough?”_

_The Vortigaunt had turned and pointed to the metal table upon which laid the sketches of a ship. Eli had turned pale._

_“The **North**.”_

Everyone had suspected as much. Eli _always_ had. Despite his conviction that the mysteries lying within the Borealis must never be solved, he soon came to accept that using the most powerful weapon of humanity was the only way to see his daughter again. But the Vortigaunts’ riddle entailed one last clue.

_“You have a saying here on Earth. It is, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’. The Freeman must regain His strength, and find this friend, if She doesn’t find Him, first. Reach compromise, make empty promises. The Freeman should, because so will She.”_

They’d gotten over the first part at least, thanks to the intensive care of White Forest’s medical personnel and the Vortigaunts’ assistance. His wounds were healed, his morale regained, and ready for round three.

Well, almost.

“Alright, that should do it.” Weiss nodded. “Deep breath..”

Gordon felt her remove the needle with the same speed as his chest rose with his breath.

“You think this’ll work?” He asked as she removed the straps constricting his arm. The answer he got was, as he’d expected, a chuckle and a simple shrug.

“Nothing is certain in our line of work, that much I think you know. But yes, I think this will improve our chances. Max is working on a semiconductor that we can better integrate into your plasmonic device, so that we can get clearer data before it obliterates my protein crystals.”

Gordon laughed at the pointed look she shot before turning around to organise her equipment. “Sorry about that. But, that’s good! Also,” he sat upright on the exam bed and pressed against the needle puncture with the cotton ball she gave him. “I’ve been talking to Kleiner, and I think we found a way we can use positrons to pinpoint the heat generation of excess nanoparticles.”

There was a pause as she swivelled back dramatically to face him, and Gordon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. “Are you saying you’re going to use a glorified PET scan to find dark matter?”

“I…” he cleared his throat. “Well, the process is a lot more refined than what you’re impl-..”

“You’re going to use a glorified PET scan to find dark matter.”

“…I’m going to use a glorified PET scan to find dark matter.”

Weiss’ sceptic expression gave way to a wide grin. “ _Cool_.”

While the rest of them were working on finding the best route for the Borealis, and the mystery woman in the Vortigaunts’ prophecy, Gordon’s request to conduct his own research was granted by the founding members of the Resistance, and he finally took his rightful place beside the scientists of White Forest. Kleiner was leading the project for the reconstruction of the HEV suit, now aptly named “HEV Mark VI”, and Gordon was leading his own project to find traces of the Vortessence with which they could use to find Alyx’ trail using his expertise in particle and theoretical physics. He didn’t need to look far to know where to start. He lifted the cotton ball and tentatively watched a dollop of blood collect on his skin. He enjoyed his introductory classes in college, sure, but biology was not his specialty. He could tell the difference between a prokaryote and a eukaryote cell, but that was pretty much it. He knew there was no chance he could do this alone. So he got together with a team of volunteers from all research departments. Lara Weiss was the leading biologist on the project. Her unruly hair and ginormous glasses reminded Gordon of the early 80s, but he doubted he’d ever have the courage to tell her that.

“Well, looks like you’re all done here.” She cracked her knuckles. “I’m going to clean up and get to work. And _you_ are going to have a chat with Professor Kleiner. He asked to see you as soon as you were done here.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow as he unrolled his sleeve. “Did he say what it was?”

“Just that it was urgent.”

“Uh-oh.”

Weiss snorted amusedly at his wide-eyed look. “It didn’t sound like it was anything bad, but you should probably hurry either way.” Gordon was already up and heading outside.

“Don’t forget your sweatshirt!“ she called behind him and watched him walk gingerly back inside and get his sweatshirt from the hanger behind the door.

“Go with god.”

He gave her a small salute in response and closed the door behind him.

* * *

He wasn’t surprised to find the door to Kleiner’s lab wide open. Not only because labs were meant to be adequately ventilated at all times, but also because closed spaces had always been uncomfortable for him. Even his office door at MIT was left open, and Gordon would often help him find the papers that had flown off with a strong breeze. It would last about half an hour at best and two hours at worst. Despite having mentally grumbled at his messiness more than a few times, he was happy to see that the old man was just as messy as he was twenty years ago. He’d found a sense of normalcy that he was desperate for, and he would always be grateful for that. Just another favour that he owed his professor.

He knocked at the side of the door with his usual rhythm. Old habits do die hard.

“Professor Kleiner?”

“Hm?” Kleiner called out from where he was squatting behind the desk, no doubt looking for something. He fixed his glasses before he looked up and his face lit up when he saw who it was.

“Ah, just who I was looking for! Come on in, my boy!” he gestured vaguely at a chair beside him. “I’ll be with you in just a moment. So sorry to keep you waiting. I know you’re even busier than usual, what with your own projects underway.”

Gordon smiled and sat down, nudging the other chair a little bit closer so Kleiner could reach it easier. “No worries, sir. Anything I can help with?”

He could hear the mock-indignation in how Kleiner lilted his words. “I’m _quite_ capable of finding things on my own when I want, Gordon! A cable is one such item. You’ll see that I have-.. A-ha!” He lifted the cable in triumph.

“Good job, Izzy.” Eli called from the corridor, grinning at the two. “Glad to see one of us is keeping his form.”

“Save your mockery for later, Eli. This a _monumental_ moment for the Resistance.”

“Yeah, about that,” Eli leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Is everything alright? You sounded panicked over the radio.”

“Oh no, no. Not panicked, ecstatic!” He leaned against his chair and stood up, and looked over at them proudly. ”Eli, Gordon, I believe we may have our first contact from across the Pacific!”

A heavy silence settled around them as both men stood, awestruck. Gordon couldn’t believe it. If this was true, then…

“America?” Eli managed. “That’s… Are you _sure_ , Izzy?”

Kleiner secured the cable somewhere behind the computer, and stood back after typing vehemently at the keyboard. “See for yourselves!”

White Forest has been broadcasting encrypted messages, Episodes as Kleiner called them, that roughly summarized everything that had happened since the Black Mesa Incident and the Seven Hour War. The construction of the Citadel, the underground resistance movement in City 17, the success and failure of various missions, the open war against the Combine, and the destruction of the Citadel. Their plans with the Borealis and the names of key players weren’t disclosed in fear of the Combine somehow decrypting the message and causing a distraction, but they were almost a hundred percent sure that the Combine no longer had the technology nor the time to crack it. And most important of all, they lacked the human element required to send a reply. Or at least something very close to it.

**_[4.19.20, 20:34:12] GlaDOS: Still here._ **

****

**_[4.19.20, 20:34:14] Please tell me you’re not Black Mesa._ **


	3. Soldier, Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a. the best bromance in all of gaming, featuring Barnerd Calhoun and Gordork Freeman.
> 
> I'm just as surprised as you are that the third chapter didn't take 12 years to post.

Not so long ago, the many silos and halls of White Forest used to chime with activity. Normally there would be a constant influx of rebel informants sneaking in and out from the tunnels below ground now, their hurried recollection of the events they’ve witnessed muffed under the steady thrumming of the militia’s footsteps. Radio chatter would abruptly cut through the constant hum of engines and the sound of metal hitting metal. Science recruits would ask for directions to anyone they’d come across, looking out of place in crispy white lab coats. The air would be heavy with the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and liquor. And the occasional laughter would echo through steel corridors, contrasting brightly with the cold concrete walls that surrounded them. But these were extraordinary times, even by their standards. Even compared to what they’d been through. Now, the militia had their hands full with operations that had them go further and further away from White Forest. Scientists had long retreated into their laboratories, silently and vehemently working on project after project. The garages were empty, laughter was scarce, and the radios were mostly silent. The main hangar looked much larger without the ever present crowd of engineers and their equipment, completely vacant save for a helicopter and a lone visitor, who’d only dropped by to take out the trash anyways.

Barney Calhoun stopped beside the large dumpster labelled _Inorganic Waste_ , and dropped the heavy trash bag onto the ground to take one last look at his Civil Protection uniform, or what was left of it. It was already in its senior years and ready to retire when their fight against the Combine finally reached its peak. It was all too much for his old suit, but it still saved his life more than a couple of times before it finally crumble to pieces. After the fighting died down, the science team worked hard to reverse engineer every trace of Combine technology they could find, and this left Barney with little more than a hollow husk of its former glory. He noticed his hesitation as he was moving the heavy bag. Funny how he’d never realised just how attached he’d gotten to it until after it got destroyed. He patted the rough edge of the armour almost wistfully, then finally threw it into the dumpster. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his sweater and leaned back against the wall, silently regarding the courtyard and the green hills sprawling beyond.

It was early in the evening, and the sun had just set. Its last hues in the horizon and the candlelight from inside the watchtowers smoothed the harsh corners of concrete and metal. It almost looked like a painting from here; a portrait of White Forest in its dormant state. If Barney didn’t know any better, he’d almost call it peaceful.

It had been four weeks since Alyx Vance disappeared. Thanks to the tremendous effort of White Forest’s personnel, communication was established with most, if not all the resistance groups in Europe. In fact, a few of them had already overthrown their Combine captors.

> C. EUROPE _[12.23.2020, 12:13:45]: Excuse me, if I may be so bold to ask; how exactly did you do it? In such a short amount of time, that is._

*   
_W. ASIA [12.23.2020, 12:14:53]: We’re nothing if not thorough with our reforms, professor. This time we used slightly bigger weapons._  

  

*   
_W. EUROPE [12.23.2020, 12:16:40]: We feigned surrender to get in the same room as the ambassador, then we proceeded to talk her to death._  

  

*   
_E. EUROPE [12.23.2020, 12:17:00]: We just killed them._  


Turns out those select few resistance groups had set up a _spy network_ that sprawled all the way around the continent, reaching all the way from Scandinavia to further beyond the Urals from its main bases in Europe, the British Isles, Anatolia and northern Asia. The leading members of White Forest were at first shocked, and understandably chagrined with their decision to reveal themselves only _after_ they deposed of the local Combine administration, but they’d soon come to realise that the best support they could’ve possibly gotten was one that they would barely notice lest they put the others in danger; which was exactly the case. Just the right amount of whispers and nudges here, and some derailed shipments of Combine armouries there. Sporadic enough to avoid suspicion, but significant enough to make a difference. When the Resistance chapters gave details on the exact nature of their operations, and what exactly they did to help them, everything suddenly made sense. Any missing detail in their reports and any inconsistency in their intelligence were now answered. It seemed they were never truly alone.

The notion of allies took some time to get used to. Living in City 17 was hardly predictable, its inhabitants’ fates never certain. But there was one simple, unchangeable _fact_ that the Combine managed to burrow deep into their minds; that they were little more than a tiny spec in their benefactors’ eyes, that nothing they did ever mattered, and they would die in a cold, crammed apartment, uselessly hugging their tattered sheets to their chests. Completely, and utterly alone. This didn’t leave them with many options. They could either accept defeat, reach their end gently and with great indifference; or they could refuse, cursing at the skies that betrayed them, raging against a life that was never theirs. The world’s population was halved not only because of the suppression fields, but also because the nature of humanity demanded rebellion. There had been many wars in the last two decades for the city’s independence, but their accounts were based solely on rumours. There were no witness reports to speak of because almost everyone on the frontlines had died, and the ones who did survive refused to talk about it because they had nothing left to say.

Strange how there was always a price to pay for war. Either people lost their lives, or they lost a part of themselves that they’d never get back. Regardless of the outcome, the person they once were was gone, and they could no longer remember what they were fighting for. It had taken a long time for them to remember their cause, and the painful road to recovery had taken even longer, but with so many people believing in them and the support of those they were closest to -even that asshole Magnusson had visited him once- it was hard not to be hopeful. Hopeful for the _third_ option, for the day they would eventually heal and be alive again. There were times when they thought that day would never come.

But it did.

Barney smiled, absently rubbing the scar on his temple. If they could get through all that, then they could sure as hell get used to the idea of having a few thousand extra hands.

Speaking of extra hands…

\-----

Barney arrived at the apartment complex and knocked at an unassuming white door to his right, the farthest one in the corridor. Knowing from experience that waiting for a response is near futile, he announced himself as he opened the unlocked door.

“It’s me, doc.” He looked over inside the cramped room, searching for the familiar figure that is so often found crouching over a desk where he’s either squinting at a computer screen, haphazardly writing something down, or sleeping with one of his arms hanging down from his side. It’s almost 6 PM, so he had half expected to find Gordon getting ready for a nap because he knew he couldn’t sleep well at night, but this time he found that his friend was freshly awake and ready to take on the never-so-menial task of data and paperwork. He smiled and nodded to him.

“Hey, doc.”

Gordon didn’t turn around to face him, but he flashed a wide grin to his general direction. Barney noticed that he had let his beard grow, and as a result looked considerably more orange from afar. 

“Hey, Barns. What’s up?”

Barney sighed and sat down at the edge of Gordon’s neatly made bed with a huff, absently smoothing over the creases he created. “Got rid of that junk, finally.”

Gordon frowned, pouting slightly to accentuate his incredulity. “Junk? That thing kept you alive more times than I can count. Don’t sell it so short.”

Barney chuckled to himself. He expected him to say as much. For a young albeit seasoned scientist, Gordon had somehow always managed to sport what could only be described as pragmatic optimism. He was well-aware of the good, the bad and the ugly, and he was always keen in figuring out how to tip the scales in favour of the good, never content in pure observation. His relatively unique point of view lifted the spirits of everyone around him, and Barney found himself flitting through the memories of a multitude of near-death experiences with a surprisingly fond smile etched to his face.

“Yeah, I guess so. Buuut,” he leaned back against the wall with his hands supporting his neck. “I heard you guys were cooking up something even better.”

Gordon tilted his head, looking like the epitome of innocence as he raised his eyebrows. “Oh? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. I don’t know how those super-secret-classified blueprint copies ended up squeezed under my door either. I must be imagining things.”

“Indeed.”

“And I didn’t see a certain tall, suspicious stranger who tried to ‘disguise’ himself with an ill-fitting beanie on top of his head going down the stairs, wearing a grey sweatshirt much like the one rolled up into a ball beside me.”

“Most certainly not.” He shook his head, but threw a glance at Barney after a few seconds of silence. “What do you mean it doesn’t fit?”

Barney snorted. “You have a big head, Gordo. The beanie sticks up when you wear it and you look like an elf.”

Gordon shrugged. “It’s almost Christmas. And I happen to like that beanie.” Gordon threw one more glance at Barney, the corner of his eyes crinkling with what Barney recognised as mischief and no small amount of anticipation. “How’d you like it?”

“You mean the blueprints that I totally didn’t see?”

“M-hm.”

Barney closed his eyes and re-constructed the image, and his smile grew progressively wider the more details he recalled. He might not have been scientist, but he had an uncanny photographic memory that baffled anyone who had tried underestimated him. It had been a while since that last happened, mostly because everyone knew better to doubt the importance of his role in the resistance or what he was capable of. Besides, anyone who did underestimate him usually ended up dead.

Now, he saw the familiar yet a more tailored, better-fitting suit of armour that had smoother edges and a lighter, yet sturdier build that cushioned all kinds of blows. He further coloured and embellished the image with the addition of Gordon’s notes scribbled on the far left side of the corner, listing the different materials and alloys they were using, as well as a built in signal scrambler for foreign wavelengths that would try to hone in on their location. When he opened his eyes he saw that Gordon had turned around to face him, seemingly satisfied with Barney’s awed expression.

“I take that as a yes.”

“Oh _fuck_ yeah.”

Gordon burst out a laugh, the smug look on his face completely gone as he swivelled around on his chair triumphantly with an almost childlike delight before he went back to work, the sound of his rapid keystrokes filling the room once again.

“So you’re using a different design this time?”

“Well, yes and no. Given that our armour development was still at an early stage during the Combine war, the information and specimens we could gather from the posts we took over finally gave us the edge we needed. So we…” Gordon made a circling motion with his hand, a sign that he was searching for words.

“Used them to our advantage?” Barney offered.

Gordon snapped his fingers and nodded. “Yes, exactly. We filled in the blanks of our prototypes with an amalgam of Combine and human technology. And… Perhaps something else.”

“Oh? This should be good.” Barney grinned, but he swore he could hear his friend frowning, despite their mutual enthusiasm about high-tech armaments.

“The Vortigaunts agreed to charge your armour, which upon testing seems to have increased its resilience against electromagnetic fields and laser-level frequencies, but we can never know for sure what it will do in action if we don’t test it.”

“You’ve got just the right man for the job, then!” Barney learned over and patted Gordon’s back, who had been as still as a statue before Barney touched him. He lost the tension in between his shoulders, but he wasn’t bothering to hide what the untrained eye would have assumed to be extreme discontent. Rather, it was the most primal of fears, the sense of dread that looms over everyone when they see their loved ones in danger. It was especially present in Gordon, who has experienced loss of an unexplainable measure and has barely had enough time to even process it. He had often confided with Barney of his predicament of not being able to tell what was real and what was not, who was alive and who was gone, or when was the past and when was the now. At this point, Barney doubted him or anyone could give Gordon the answers he wanted. What he _could_ give was his support as his best friend, and be there for him as best he could. Sometimes that’s all you needed.

“Just…” Gordon sighed. “Be careful, Barns.” He searched Barney’s face, suddenly looking very tired.

Barney gently rotated Gordon’s chair so that he could face him and look into his eyes, beaming at him with an unspoken promise. “I always am.”

Gordon chuckled fondly as Barney brought him in for a sideways hug. “Maybe not _always_.” He raised an eyebrow at him, and the look in his eyes confirmed Barney’s suspicions that they were both thinking of one incident in particular.

Barney waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, maybe not always. But, most of the time. It’ll be fine, Gordon. If weird shit does happen, and don’t get me wrong, it often does,” He let his hands drop from Gordon’s shoulders and made a slightly exaggerated shrugging gesture, then clasped his hands together assuredly, hoping the confidence it conveyed would infect Gordon as well. “We’ll just deal with it when it’s time. Okay?”

Gordon nodded softly to himself as he processed his words, then he nodded again, but with more spirit this time. “Okay. Alright.” He smiled at Barney, returning his hug warmly before moving towards his computer, although he stopped abruptly just before his elbows touched his desk. He turned to Barney, pointing towards him with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m so sorry. Did you need me for anything?”

“Yeah,” Barney scratched the back of his head. “But it’s not urgent. I just wanted to talk to you about this whole business with new allies and that, uh, Aperture murder robot that you seem to be great pals with now.” He paused for a second to let Gordon’s laughter to subside. “There’s just… all sorts of talk going around and I just wanted to hear _your_ thoughts.” He sat forward and steepled his hands. “So I figured I’d try to whisk you away from your worldly troubles and convince you to go get dinner with me.”

Gordon gave him a look. “I thought dinner also counted as a worldly trouble.”

"I know it does, Gordo, but so does starvation.” 

Gordon paused for a moment as he seemingly finalised his sentences, then pressed a few more buttons before humming in satisfaction as the printer beside him whirred to life. As he waited for his documents, he turned around to face Barney and squinted at him in mild confusion. “It’s dinner time already?”

“Yeah. It’s around 7 now.” Barney could barely keep his face straight as Gordon’s face changed with the multitude of emotions he was experiencing including shock, annoyance, contemplation, and then indifference.

“I did eat, though.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

His friend’s hazy, bloodshot eyes narrowed as he mulled the question over. After a couple of seconds in thought, he answered with a nod. “Last night.” He seemed rather pleased with himself, as he was surprised that it hasn’t been longer, before realising that ‘last night’ really meant 24 hours. Barney stared at him with extreme, amicable frustration.

“I, uh… Had a chicken burrito.”

Barney kept staring.

“It was very good.”

After a few more seconds of intentionally drawn out silence as both men tried to hold in their laughter, Barney finally nodded at himself and rubbed his hands together. “Alright, I’m dragging your ass out of here.”

Gordon laughed so hard he was propelled backwards into his desk. He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand and held up the other one in truce. “No need to drag anything. I shall come willingly.”

“Uh-huh. Wear some pants before you do that, yeah?”

Gordon peeked at Barney before looking down at himself, and was indeed greeted with the sight of his bare legs. Horribly overworked as it was, his brain slowly caught up to the state of his body, and a cold shiver went down his spine as he suddenly felt really cold. He hadn’t noticed Barney leaning towards the other side of his bed, so he was more than a little surprised when he saw his rolled-up sweatshirt and pants fly towards him and hit him square in the face.

“Aaaaand goal!”

“Mph.” The physicist expressed his enthusiasm with a mouthful of thick fabric.

“You’re welcome. Now, wear your pants and let’s bail. Jesus Christ, I swear you’ve worn the same exact sweats since Black Mesa. Are these the same brand or did you smuggle it with you during your interdimensional-space-travel bullshit?”

“Mphkmph.”

“Awh, I love you too, Gordo. You truly mean a lot to me, which is why I won’t be dissuaded with your sweet talking and get some food into you because otherwise you clearly won’t. What happened to all that talk about ‘cura te ipsum’?”

“That was intended for medical professionals, Barns.”

“So what? Not like you can’t take care of yourself if you’re not doing medicine, right?” He stood up and cracked his knuckles as Gordon worked to put on his clothes. “And I doubt Hippocrates would mind having his words twisted if it saved some lives.”

“Well, I’m truly flattered.” Gordon said half-jokingly, jumping a couple of times after putting on his pants to get his blood flowing. 

“Y’know, we should get you one of those alarm clocks like the one you had in Black Mesa. So you don’t miss meal times. Or else I’m gonna have to drop by every day to make sure you don’t faint during practice or somethin’.”

“I’m fine, Barns. Really.” Gordon assured him before getting something from the top of his desk and wrapping it around his left wrist, which Barney recognises to be a bandana. “It’s just been a really busy couple of days… Oh! Speaking of which; you had some questions for me, right?“ he gestured towards the printer as he put on his sneakers. “I’ve been working on something. I think it might have the right answers for you.”

“Oh uh,” Barney briefly struggled to hide the worry seeping into his voice, but he cleared his throat and expertly recovered his uniform tone. “Yeah. From what I’ve heard, it caused quite a stir amongst the others. I haven’t seen Eli this excited about a project since him and Alyx were working on D0G.”

Gordon’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his voice was tinged with mirth. “I can’t say I’m not excited either. I haven’t worked with artificial intelligence since Black Mesa, and GLaDOS is something even beyond that.”

**_Ka-flip!_ **

The final page of the document swooshed out of the printer. Gordon’s face lit up as he gathered all of the pages together, which Barney guessed to be around 20-25 pages, and stapled them together with a stapler almost as big as a gun. He brushed back his hair with his fingers, adjusted his glasses and flashed a lopsided smile at Barney. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“I always do, Gordo. Even if I don’t understand half of what you’re saying.” Their laughter echoed in the small room as they walked towards the door together.

“Well, I appreciate it. I’ll give you a quick rundown during dinner.” He snorted amusedly when Barney threw his hoodie up onto his head playfully after he locked his door, the familiar gesture putting him at ease despite how annoying it used to be.

“You got it, doc.” He gestured towards the stairs and grinned brightly. “After you.”


End file.
